11-20-08 dream journal
(The first two dream journal letters—11-18 & 11-19—that I sent to you were
written down immediately upon waking, whereas I had to think about this
latest waking dream images for an hour or more before writing it down;
almost deciding not to more than once.)
I am somewhat at a loss to attempt to describe this morning's waking dream because its setting and ambiance seem so far removed from my culture and ambiance that it boggles my (waking) mind's imagination as to why little old rural pastoralist me could envision suck a scenario. That being written, I will try to relate the scene:
I am dressed in clean unstained slacks, dress shirt, sport coat, and shined shoes in this dream—I am supposing this because there were no disparaging senses of being poorly judged due to lousy appearing clothing on my body. I was 'in the tow' of a smart and smartly-dressed female—I have no clue as to who she was—who had 'dragged' me along on her appointment to confer or consult with the developer of a recently-developed modern community in a few-square-mile bowl of a valley or plain adjacent to the ocean, surrounded by steep cliffs and forested hills.
We arrived there via a high-speed rail that arrived into a mall-like 'business' district down on the flats, that smacked (to me) of a tourist-trap-like hodge-podge of gaudy shops full of inconsequential glitzy baubel-like non-descript and totally unnecessary stuff. The surrounding plain was of manicured lawns, sprinkled with a few youngish landscape trees, and peppered with high-rise apartment or condo complexes every quarter-mile or so, on up to the last few, high up the hillsides, to one on the highest cliff overlooking the steep edges down to the ocean, far below. I don't know if we hiked or took a cab up there. The lady's scheduled meeting or interview with the chief muckity-muck developer took place in the top floor penthouse apartment of this highest structure on the top of the highest seaside cliff. An elevator ride up at least twenty floors brought us to this swank penthouse apartment. Wall-to-wall carpet of an off-white hue, mottled white sheetrock walls and ceiling, and long drapes gathered to the sides of large picture windows facing the sea.
While she was having her meeting with the fat cat, I wandered over to the picture windows edge of the living room, facing the sea, many hundreds of feet straight down below; and immediately got to feeling very scared—as in vertigo—to look down and see no solid ground; only the long empty space down to the water . . . got so 'scared' that I am supposing that this is why I woke up, then . . .
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